


Life Model

by meeks00



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student Miya Atsumu, Explicit Language, Getting Together, Life Model Sakusa Kiyoomi, M/M, No beta we die like mne, as usual, gratuitous overuse of the word "dick"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeks00/pseuds/meeks00
Summary: Atsumu has artist's block for one single, stupid reason.__Atsumu's fingers are a mess of charcoal, but his canvas is a still-mostly blank pressure-filled thing that he can’t seem to fill. Because he’s stuck on Sakusa’s face despite thinking nonstop about his dick.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 52
Kudos: 374





	Life Model

**Author's Note:**

> This little one-shot was inspired by [Meg’s](https://twitter.com/mcgooen) awesome LifeModel!Sakusa AU on twitter (@mcgooen). Please look at how gorgeous skts are and how hilarious Atsumu is in that [artwork](https://twitter.com/mcgooen/status/1358576427164123140)! Thanks, Meg, for the immediate brainrot and for letting me post this thing!

It’s been three weeks in which Sakusa Kiyoomi has walked into the life drawing classroom every Tuesday and Thursday, shed his bright white terrycloth robe, and sat there covering up his dick with a very demure and delicate posture for someone who’s built out and hovering over 6’2. 

It’s been three weeks in which Atsumu has tried very hard not to get upset at the expanse of a thick thigh and long legs covering up that very dick and trying to keep his own under control.

His fingers are a mess of charcoal, but his canvas is a still-mostly blank pressure-filled thing that he can’t seem to fill. Because he’s stuck on Sakusa’s face despite thinking nonstop about his dick. 

Part of that is because Sakusa’s seated so that the sunlight shining in from the window behind him casts shadows on his lean form. He’s apparently on the volleyball team, and it shows not just in the length of his limbs but in the strength and confidence of his posture. 

Sakusa is comfortable in his own body, which is probably why he’s here as the class’s model, and it’s clear from the strength required for his chosen posture that he knows how to use that body to its fullest, which is probably why Atsumu seriously can’t stop thinking with his dick about _Sakusa’s_ fucking dick. Shit. 

Another part of it is that, because of the way the light falls into the classroom, it means that Sakusa’s face is turned in Atsumu’s direction for the better part of the 1.5 hours Atsumu’s stuck here staring straight back at this fucking Adonis of a dude. 

He leans around his easel to take in Sakusa’s hair, the way it curls next to his two beauty marks, the way it grazes at his forehead and makes Sakusa tip his head every so often so the curls don’t fall into his eyes. 

That’s really the major sticking point here though. Sakusa’s stupid eyes. 

“Don’t look at me!” Atsumu snaps under his breath. He sees a flash of something move across Sakusa’s face, the fiery hold in his gaze, and Atsumu feels his face flush with heat. He ducks back behind his pad. 

“Breathe, Tsumu,” Aran mutters next to him. 

If anything, Atsumu feels his skin flush hotter at being caught out. He bares his teeth to his left and turns away from Aran’s impassive yet somehow judging side eye. 

“Leave me alone,” he says. “I’m making art.” 

Aran’s eyes track to Atsumu’s pad, then to his own, and Atsumu clicks his tongue in annoyance. Aran’s style is all thick lines connected in swoops. With each stroke and curve, Atsumu can easily see the power in Sakusa’s posture across the paper. 

And then he looks at own and sees a few curls in a gradient of black on white, the outline of a strong jaw, the curve of a nose, the delicate tap of those moles above scant slashes of eyebrows - still no eyes. Still no body, on which there are more gradients across curves and muscle tone and moles than any one single human should be allowed to have. 

“This is our last class with this one,” Suna says from his other side. “Are you going to keep staring into his eyes or are you actually gonna draw something?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Atsumu hisses, hunching over his charcoal sticks. He picks up another one, tests its weight in his palm, rubs the residue across the pads of his fingers. “It’s harder than it looks, okay?”

“What - your dick?” Suna asks, but his tone is as deadpanned as his gaze that has yet to leave his own canvas. 

Atsumu snaps his eyes quickly around his easel to peek at Sakusa to see if he heard that. Sakusa’s still looking back, but probably out of the obligation to stay in that one position than anything to do with Atsumu. 

“You’re the dick,” Atsumu says when he takes cover again. He swipes across his forehead to brush his hair back.

Out of spite, he starts on the eyes. And, once he starts, he finds he can’t stop. 

Though Sakusa’s gaze still holds on him every time he checks, the effect of that very gaze fades as Atsumu finally focuses on capturing it in a different way. He alternates between brushing the charcoal in his hand across the emptiness he’d created by avoiding Sakusa’s eyes and smudging to mirror more than just the outline, but the depth he sees there. 

He doesn’t notice his own smile, but he does notice Sakusa’s when he moves on to drawing his mouth. It’s tilted up on one side, full lips pressed together like he’s trying to hide it. It’s different from how Suna has captured his mouth with his array of pastels - downturned and in a tight line, like he’s stiff and mildly uncomfortable. 

All Atsumu does notice is that his hands are moving, and they don’t stop until his canvas is near full and the sunlight cuts at a new angle across his subject. He only notices because Sakusa pulls out of position, stretches those limbs up and up, and then turns in his seat so his back faces Atsumu’s side of the room. 

“Aw,” Atsumu says, scratching at his jaw in disappointment. 

Sakusa’s eyes cut to him over his shoulder before he turns to shrug his robe on. Atsumu busies himself with wiping his hands on a rag to pretend he didn’t just say something stupid. 

Next to him, Aran claps a hand to his shoulder as if in commiseration, and Atsumu can feel Suna’s stare boring a hole into the side of his face.

“That was so embarrassing for you,” he says.

Atsumu is trying so hard not to blush any harder that he doesn’t even have it within himself to snap back.

On his way out the door after the bell chime, he stops when someone says, “You’ve got ink all over your face.”

Atsumu whips around, knocking his pad against the doorway. “What?” he says, like a fucking casanova as he scrambles to keep his materials in hand. 

Sakusa raises a brow, the sleeve of his robe gaping a bit as he gestures at Atsumu’s face. “Your face. It’s a mess.” 

Atsumu is frozen until a laugh escapes him. It’s the stupid one, the one that has Aran and Suna cracking up in response as they leave him behind. He gets an amused backwards glance from Aran and a crude blow job tongue-in-cheek gesture from Suna. 

Atsumu feels himself turn bright red. “It’s charcoal,” he says petulantly. 

“Charcoal,” Sakusa replies easily. “Did you get all you needed?”

Atsumu darts his eyes up and finds Sakusa’s holding on his, somehow more arresting than when he’d been posing for a classroom full of people staring back at him. “Get all I - ”

“Did you finish, I mean,” Sakusa adds. There’s a hint of red at his cheeks that hasn’t been there the entire time Atsumu excused his staring for the purpose of his art. 

Atsumu should say he did - that he did finish. He should say he got everything he needed, and all he needs to do now is edit and fill in a bit more to get the tone right, the mood. Instead, he shakes his head slowly. “No. I mean, almost, but not - I didn’t - ”

“Take me out for a coffee, and I’ll give you more time,” Sakusa says, cutting him off. He’s outright blushing now, even Atsumu can tell that, and he’s not usually great at getting the hint. 

But he gets it now. 

He finally understands that look in Sakusa’s eyes that he’d seen hints of all throughout the past few weeks - the one that stopped Atsumu’s hands in motion, kept him riveted but stumped. 

So he lets his smile spread across his face, sees it mimicked - again - on Sakusa’s, and says, “I can’t refuse an offer like that.”

Even after coffee, Atsumu never does get around to having Sakusa pose the same way, but he never runs into the issue of stilled hands again. 

Instead, he gets to see Sakusa in varied shades of light - without anyone else’s eyes around - and in many different positions. And each time, he notices the smile on his own face mirrored in Sakusa’s and never tries to hide from that dark, glittering gaze again.

///

**Author's Note:**

> I know I keep saying I have writer's block and keep working on WIPs, and I swear I'm not lying. Somehow tiny ideas keep escaping that are self-contained, and yet the fic WIPs just aren't moving. Pls help. Thanks!
> 
> P.S. Come say hi on Twitter - [@meekswrites](https://twitter.com/meekswrites)!


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